A Relationship Based on Mutual Respect
by Galorya
Summary: Seven prompts over seven days. From first meetings to freeform writing. Enjoy!
1. A Turbulent Meeting

_Day One - First Meeting_

* * *

Claire hated flying.

She hated it with every fiber of her being. She hated having to sit for countless hours in a seat, her hands gripping the armrests the entire way until she couldn't feel them anymore. She hated the way the roar of the plane and the pressure in the air pounded in her ears. She hated sitting where she could see the ground below, thousands of feet separating her from steady earth. She hated when the plane bounced at the turbulence. Her stomach would twist, a bile would rise in her throat, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, adding to the loud symphony that was the noisy airplane.

Her hatred was terribly inconvenient, as in her line of work, she had to do a lot of jumping around, and now, just finishing a corporate meeting with Masrani Global in San Francisco, she was on a nearly six hour flight from LAX to San José. To her utter _joy_ (please note her sarcasm) she would be boarding a boat soon after to get back to the island. Oh how wonderful.

She wasn't entirely sure if she'd be able to last.

Getting through security hadn't been too difficult; the TSA agents had been relatively friendly to her, save for the man at the front of the line who had been so cold and callous as he handed her the boarding pass.

Waiting at the gate had been absolute torture. Her leg shook nervously, bouncing up and down as her fingers knit together in her lap. The time came for her to board the plane, the beat of her heart increasing in tempo as she handed the stewardess her ticket. She took, slow, deep breaths as she moved through the aerobridge, her carry-on suitcase trailing behind her.

 _12A._

Her seat was 12A. She hoped to God that there wasn't a person in the seat next to her. The "A" meant that she would be on the right side of the plane and in a window seat, something she in no way had any desire to be part of. The less likely she was to see what was below, the better off she was. Her heart sank as she stepped into the plane, walking down the aisle, seeing a man putting an old suitcase into the compartment above his seat.

In row twelve.

He must have been 12B.

She stopped as she reached their seats, her hand gripping the handle of her suitcase tightly. The man had just sat down when he looked up at her.

Claire decided the best way out of this was to bargain. She gave a forced smile, her facade failing to completely hide her frazzled state. "Excuse me, sir, do you think I could sit there?" She pointed to the aisle seat, trying to make her voice sound as friendly as she could.

He gave a small smirk, something that cause a pang of both irritation and some unidentifiable spark within her. He looked to his side at the window, before turning back to her. "Nervous flier?"

Had she really been so transparent? She only responded with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. For a moment, she was afraid that he wouldn't budge, that he would say something along the lines of _'don't be such a baby,' 'are you kidding? Scared of a plane?'._ That damn smirk still plastered on his face, he rose to his full height, towering above her (and standing much too close for comfort, she might add. She could smell his cologne enough without him invading her personal bubble, thank you very much). To her relief and gratitude, he shifted to the window seat, lowering himself into the leather, his eyes never leaving hers.

Without any hesitation, she plopped into the now empty seat next to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him turn to her, his lips widening into a genuine smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. "I'm Owen," he stated, extending a large hand out to her. She looked at him, her eyes watching him warily. He was devastatingly good-looking, almost unfairly so, and she found her cheeks growing warm as she took in his appearance. She took his hand, her stomach fluttering (she wasn't entirely sure whether it was from the nerves from flying, or from how nice his warm, rough hand felt on hers). He looked to be incredibly fit, though not in the way she had been used to. His physique was impressive— _very impressive_ —but he didn't seem like the kind of meat head that spent every waking hour in the gym. He looked like a man that could really handle himself in any situation.

The roughness of his hands told her that he was a hard worker; a true outdoorsman. He wore dark, tight-fitting jeans, his feet clad in a worn pair of work boots. The buttons of his off-white shirt were straining slightly against his toned chest, almost as if they would pop off at any slight movement.

At her silence, his smile faded back into a predatory smirk.

She instantly pulled her hand away, realizing that she had been holding his for far too long. "Uh, nice to meet you," she stammered, trying in vain to hide the blush that had crept up to her cheeks. She was alarmed at her own voice. Claire Dearing _did not_ stammer, nor was she ever so bothered by a _man_ , for God's sake. _Oh, God._ Now she was flustered _and_ scared out of her mind. When would this hell end?

Not anytime soon, apparently. She felt her heart racing again, the blood rushing to her ears nearly muffling the voice over the intercom telling them to fasten their seat belts, the green light above their seats only repeating the request. She could only suppress the shaking of her hand so much as she pulled the belt across her body, struggling for a moment to actually get the damn thing buckled. A sigh escaped her as she leaned back into the chair, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

"You know, if you get too scared, you can hold my hand," Owen's teasing voice spoke from next to her.

She cracked her eyes open, her brows furrowing into an irritated glare as she looked at him incredulously. Frustration bubbled within her as she felt the uncalled for heat of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, still not having recovered from her previous blunder.

"I don't mind," He said with a shake of his head, his eyes tinted in humor.

This was going to be a long six hours.

* * *

He talked way too much for a man she'd only just met. Really, it was beginning to drive her insane. So much so, that she almost forgot how terrified she was because she was too focused on being irritated with his incessant babbling. All she wanted to do, was sit in silence, and wallow in her own fear. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so.

After an extensive story on his time as a dolphin trainer in the Navy (a story which, though Claire would never admit, she found extremely fascinating, even in her current state of mind), he turned fully to her, his head tilting in curiosity. "So where are you heading? Meeting someone? A ladies' trip on the beach?" He wiggled an eyebrow at her and she almost scoffed.

She was so exasperated at this point, she didn't even care if he knew or not. Maybe telling him would get him to shut up and leave her alone, because her silence sure as hell wasn't working. "Well, after San José, if you must know, I'm getting on a boat for Isla Nublar," she said, her tone clipped.

His eyes lit up.

 _Oh, no._

"What a coincidence!"

 _No._

"I'm also going to the 'island of the clouds!'"

 _What a cheesy line._ So he knew how to use google translate, big deal. Good for him. Claire fought the urge to roll her eyes, still wanting to maintain at least some sense of politeness. Really, if she weren't so frazzled by the damn plane ride, she would have been less annoyed with this guy. His company wasn't all that bad. It was just that he was picking the wrong time to push her buttons. "Really?" Her voice uncharacteristically high, the tension evident.

"I'm not even kidding. The folks over at Jurassic World asked me to come down and work with some of the animals in a new program; behavioral research and what not."

How eloquent. So this was the man that InGen had hired for the raptor program. Really, what were the chances?

She nodded in understanding, hoping the gesture would dismiss anymore conversation. "You must be good at handling animals," she said absently.

Wrong choice of words. That damn smirk came back, his voice lowering an octave. "Oh, I'm good at a lot of things."

Her jaw dropped at the not-so-subtle remark, folding her arms across her chest. His brash statement causing her already blushing cheeks to turn even more red, the color clashing against her copper hair.

He seemed to be satisfied with her reaction, continuing the conversation as she stared at him in stunned silence. "So, what do you do, Miss…?" He trailed off, his eyebrows raising in question.

She ignored the unspoken inquiry of her name, choosing only to answer the first part. "I'm the Park Operations Manager." Her voice only stammered slightly this time; she found she was even more annoyingly flustered at his blatant come on.

He whistled, his brows shooting up in surprise. "Alright. Well, remind me never to piss you off."

Claire actually felt a laugh bubbling at the surface; she didn't let it out, settling for an amused, and only _slightly_ condescending, smile. His eyes met hers in a moment of silence. Once again, she felt the fluttering in her abdomen, the feeling not entirely unwelcome at this point.

The moment was short-lived as she felt the plane hitch minutely as it came into a bout of turbulence, causing her stomach to leap into her chest. She gasped in surprised, her hands gripping the armrests, her nails digging into the leather. God, how much longer was this flight?

She felt a warm hand on her arm. Turning, she saw Owen watching her with concern. "Hey," he said, his voice steady and firm. "It's fine. Just a bit of—"

"Turbulence, I know!" She spat.

For the first time during the whole flight, _he_ actually seemed annoyed with _her._ His hand dropped from her arm. "Relax. Here's what you do. Just imagine; you're not on a plane, you're on a bus on a busy city street. And the turbulence is just potholes in the road, alright?"

She gave him a wary side-eye glance, before she nodded her head vigorously. She closed her eyes, taking his advice into mind. He left out the part where they were literally thousands of feet in the air, but she didn't want to test his patience; he had already shown that he was intimidating enough. To her surprise, his little method was working. She opened her eyes, seeing that he'd closed the shutter to the window, preventing her from having to see the ground below. It took a while, but slowly, her heart rate slowed, her stomach settling. Even if only a little bit, her fears were alleviated.

Claire turned to look at Owen, who was now reading the magazine he'd brought in his bag.

"Claire," she found herself saying. He looked up at her, confusion evident in his expression. To that, she gave a shy smile. "My name is Claire Dearing." She extended her hand out to him, wanting to redeem herself for her earlier behavior.

His lips curved into a large grin as he took her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Perhaps she _could_ survive the next few hours.


	2. Caught in the Act

_Day Two - A Private Moment_

* * *

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the small hotel room, a yellow haze settling over the expanse of the floor. Despite the warmth being provided by the light, the cool of the air conditioning unit sent a shiver through the red-haired woman. She curled into herself, pulling the blanket even more tightly around her in an attempt to form a shield against the unwanted breeze. She unconsciously huddled closer to the sleeping form next to her, reveling in the feeling of closeness his warm body brought.

Claire's eyelids fluttered open; she winced slightly as she felt the sunlight hit her eyes. Her vision adjusted, no longer having to squint to prevent the assault of brightness that came with the morning sun. It was a peaceful morning, something which Claire hadn't truly experienced in God knows how long. Relaxation hadn't come easy in the months following the incident; so she wasn't about to ruin such a perfect moment just because she was awake. She was going to savor this. Memorize it. Commit it to memory.

She sighed, closing her eyes once again, nestling closer to Owen, who was still very much the picture of a man in hibernation. A smile tugged at her lips as she felt a strong arm snake around her waist at her movement, pulling her close. Memories of the previous night flooded her mind as his delightfully calloused hands moved to rest on her hip. A fond smile played at the corner of her lips, curving her mouth upward as she laid her head against his bare chest.

After a moment, she couldn't help herself; opening her eyes again, she took in the sight before her. Watching someone while they slept hadn't really appealed to her before; she always found it unnerving when her past boyfriends would admit to doing it. This time, however, she found herself curious. Normally, Owen would be up before her, or the situation would arise where Claire would to have to be somewhere at ungodly hours of the morning.

With a brief glance to the clock on the bedside table, she realized that, for once, she actually had a decent amount of time before she actually had to get ready.

Now was her chance.

Owen looked so peaceful, the warm worry lines on his face relaxed as he dreamed, his head resting comfortably on the white pillow. Her eyes roamed over the expanse of his exposed chest, heat rising to her cheeks as she cherished in the feeling of his toned arms wrapped around her; she mentally praised herself for landing such an attractive partner, and one who was so talented in more ways than one. She could hardly believe she had gone so long without such a caring and devoted man as Owen. Really, they should have been doing _this_ ages ago.

Her gaze shifted to his face, her mind having tread into dangerously suggestive territory. A laugh almost escaped her as she took in his expression, amusement gleaming in her eyes at the way his mouth was slightly agape. A gentle snore came from his nose. She paused for a moment, her brows knitting together slightly, not remembering Owen to ever be someone that snored.

In a split-second, Owen's eyes had flashed open. He tightened his hold on her waist, swiftly and efficiently pinning the redhead against the bed. She shrieked in surprise, gripping him tightly as he flipped their position. "Owen!" Her heart was racing, only slowing as she realized what had happened; she scowled at the man above her as he let out a hearty laugh.

His laugh faded, his grin morphing into a sly smirk. "You were watching me sleep."

She felt like a kid who'd just been caught sneaking into the cookie jar. In her guilty state, she desperately grabbed at the thin blanket, scrambling to cover herself. Owen had seen her naked a countless number of times, but now all she wanted to do what to crawl under the sheets and hide forever.

Her first instinct was to deny everything, to imply that Owen was only full of himself, that it was wishful thinking, etc. Only, she found she couldn't find the words; so, she settled for a silent, cold glare.

His eyes lit up, a devious smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You were!"

"Don't flatter yourself," She said with exasperation, though she was having trouble stifling a laugh, feeling herself shift under his darkened gaze. "You snore, you know that?"

He chuckled, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead. "So do you."

Her jaw dropped in offense. "I do not!"

He leaned down again, this time kissing her cheek, his mouth migrating to her jaw, then to the corner of her lips at a tantalizingly slow pace. _"And_ you like to watch me sleep."

"Oh my God, Owen—"

"You know, I'm more than just a piece of meat for you to ogle at. My eyes are _up here._ I'm a _person_ and I _do not_ appreciate…"

She fought back an eye roll at his theatrical display, instead electing to fix him with a challenging glare, a smile pulling a threatening tug at the corner of her lips as he kept talking. In spite of the embarrassment she felt being caught in the act, Owen always had a way of making her smile. Along with the peaceful moments, she treasured the other ones they shared, the ones where they'd show so much affection for each other that it was sickening. Outside their home, their interactions were more controlled, their public displays of affection less apparent (though some would argue that they were still prone to the occasional PDA).

Her hands rested on the sides of his face as she pulled him down in a sound kiss, effectively shutting him up. "Oh, please," she scoffed, pulling away. "I'll do what I want with you."

Owen gave her a soft smile, his eyes gazing down into hers. He gently brushed her red hair away from her face. "You," his thumb gently grazed her bottom lip, his focus entranced by the movement. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. "You are the most amazing person I have ever known," he murmured as he traced his finger down the sharp angle of her cheekbone. "I've wanted to ask you something. I know you might not want to, but I think this is the best time to ask."

"Ask me what?" She whispered. Is this what she thought it was? He was so serious, it almost scared her. Was he about to pop the question? Was she ready for this? And _here?_ It was so unexpected. Of course, she would say yes, but—

"Would you…" He paused, laughed, and shook his head, before returning his searching gaze to hers, a soft, loving smile playing at his lips. Her heart filled with anticipation from the love that was showing through the green depths of his eyes.

"Would you take care of this?" He punctuated the request by stabbing her bare thigh with his morning wood.

 _Oh, how typical._

In hindsight, she should have seen that coming. "God _dammit,_ Owen!" This time, Claire actually _did_ roll her eyes, sighing in exasperation at his crude request; with a sudden bout of strength, she pushed him off of her, fighting back the fit of giggles bubbling within her. She reached behind her, her hand snatching up and throwing a well-aimed pillow at his head.

"What? You don't have to blow me! A handy will do the job just fine!" He laughed, dodging her attack.

"Fuck you!"

"That'll work too!" Owen continued to laugh as she tried to playfully smother him.

She couldn't help but join in his hilarity as he pretended to struggle. "You are the worst!"

Their uncontrollable laughter eventually died down, both of them falling back onto the bed, struggling to catch their breath. Owen smiled again before reaching an arm around Claire and squeezing her close, his lips finding hers in another chaste kiss.

Once again, he pulled away, looking down at her, his eyes filled with genuine affection. "You _are_ wonderful, you know that?" He asked, still trying to catch his breath from their impromptu pillow fight.

Her lips curved upward into a shy smile, her eyes gleaming. "You're not so bad yourself," she admitted, pulling him back in for another kiss, this one being significantly less innocent. She leaned into him, deepening the kiss as a soft moan escaped her, the feeling of his wandering hands roaming her body being just _so damn good._

 _Oh, what the hell! She had plenty of time!_

A surprised, but very pleased, grunt escaped Owen as Claire reached a conceding hand under the covers.

* * *

She _may_ or _may not_ have been late to work that morning, no thanks to a certain animal behaviorist.


	3. Shipwrecked

_Day Three - AU_

* * *

The white hot sand burned against Claire's skin, the small grains clinging to every inch of her. Cool, turquoise water lapped at her feet as she lay there, the harsh Central American sun beating down on her back. Her pale complexion was certain to be ruined after this.

To some, this would be paradise. To Claire Dearing, this was hell.

For one, she hadn't the faintest idea where she was.

She groaned, her weak arms trying to push herself from the ground. A throbbing pain tormented her head, her limbs feeling like jelly. Nausea gripped at her stomach, twisting and pulling at it with a forceful hand. She made the mistake of opening her eyes, cringing in agony as the sun reflected off of the white sand in a blinding light. Annoyance struck her as she felt the tiny grains grinding against her teeth as she clenched her jaw.

 _Sand._

 _So. Much. Sand._

After giving a final, aggravated push and a disgusted spit, she sat up, having to squint her eyes as she took in her surroundings. The beach stretched for what seemed like miles, the ocean water lapping the shore in an almost peaceful "calm before the storm" manner. Bigger waves were forming, the high tide coming in. She looked out into the open sea, her heart sinking that all she saw was a vast expanse of water. Behind her, a dense jungle covering as far as she could see, mountains peaking up over the tops of the trees.

She racked her brain, trying desperately to remember what had happened, why the hell she was on this island. There had been a ship, that much she remembered. There had been rain, harsh, cold rain, and wind, the strongest she'd ever experienced. Then the hours of treading water that followed, causing her limbs to feel like jelly.

It was then that she realized just how alone she was. She was supposed to be with Karen and the boys right now on a much needed family vacation; Claire had agreed due to the fact that she had been so busy working for her new boss, Mr. Masrani as they prepared to open a new theme park. Karen would assume that Claire had just skipped out on them. Then, she would call and call and call and no one would answer. Claire so badly wanted them to know that she was alive and (relatively) okay.

But she couldn't do that.

Claire sat up on her knees, bracing her arms against the hot sand. She took a deep breath, running her sand-covered hands through her hair. A groan in disgust escaped her as she tried shaking out the grains, having forgotten how it stuck to her skin like glue. She rose from the ground, stumbling slightly as she tried to find her footing. The life vest wrapped around her would normally have been feather light, but now it felt as if someone had strapped a cinderblock to her chest. She hastily tore it off, tossing it haphazardly into the water.

 _She was wearing a life vest._

Another memory returned; there was a lifeboat, filled with panicked people; a lifeboat that only ended up capsizing in the angry waters.

The voices that had filled the night air haunted her, causing a shiver to ripple through her body, despite the heat. She struggled, forcing her mind to pull any form of recollection. Nothing else would come.

Perhaps remembering could come later.

Right now, however, it was vitally important that she find some form of food, shelter, and companionship. The island seemed huge; she couldn't possibly be the only one on it, right? The odds were in her favor; she had lived, hadn't she? There had to be at least one other survivor.

It was difficult at first to find her footing as her feet sank into the sand. She growled in frustration as the weight of her legs were held down. She would have to take it slow, much to her annoyance.

* * *

Hours seemed to pass, the sun lowering in the sky as the dark approached. It would be nighttime soon, and Claire hadn't had any luck finding the three necessities for survival. She hadn't yet ventured into the dense jungle behind her; there had been a silent hope that something along the beach would come up.

Nothing had.

That is, until her foot kicked something across the sand. She startled, her worn feet tensing in pain at the impact. The object hadn't even been all that heavy. Looking down, hope filled her as her eyes laid on a familiar object; another life vest. Her heart nearly sank at the possibility that it could have been hers, just washed up from when she threw it earlier, but the fear left as she realized that the garment was too far away from where the water came up at the shore.

It wasn't hers.

Someone else was here.

Her heart and spirits lifted. Soon, desperation took her as she began screaming and yelling for the other soul. "Hello?!" She called. "Is anyone out there?!" A defeated sigh escaped her as the only sound that returned was the distant symphony of jungle animal calls and squawks. Her voice echoed and mixed among the hooting and hollering of creatures. An overwhelming weight came over her heart as the silence reverberated through her. This couldn't be happen. This couldn't _possibly_ be happening. This had to be a dream—no, a nightmare. She wasn't on a deserted island by herself. There was no way.

Alone.

Her vision began to blur; the weight of her own body becoming overbearing. Her eyelids struggled to stay open. The world seemed to tip under her feet. The urge to sleep tugged at her mind and body. She needed to rest.

She fell to the ground, everything turning black.

* * *

When she woke up, she found that she was not alone after all.

Her eyes cracked open, the act of lifting her eyelids almost impossible in her weakened state. A drop of water dripped onto her nose; she looked up, confused upon seeing a poor excuse for a roof over her head. Another drop fell from a small crack in the ceiling, followed by another. She looked around, turning her head too quickly for comfort. She hastily reached up to cover her aching head with a weak hand. Wooden, splintering walls surrounded her, the room no smaller than her walk-in closet back at home. The sound of rain against the sides of the small shack was enough to bring her back to reality.

Water.

God, she was thirsty. What she would give just to have a glass of water right now...

Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth, a few persistent grains of sand still stuck in her teeth. How long had she been out? And how did she get here?

The door at the front of the shack was shoved open. A man stepped in; he was tall and firm, his body hardened by what Claire would have guessed to be a physically straining life. He was quite handsome, and if this weren't a life or death situation, then perhaps Claire would have been more pleased by his aesthetic appeal. He moved with a certain confidence that she found both comforting and slightly irritating, though she couldn't place why. Something about this man had seemed so familiar, but her mind came up blank.

His clothes were in no better condition than hers were at this point, caked in a mixture of mud, sand, and salt water. The man turned to her, nudging the door shut with his foot. His hard, calculating gaze made her shift where she lay, Claire suddenly finding herself to feel very self-conscious under this man's eye. The familiar sense of relief filled her as the harshness in his stare seemed to die down, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're alive."

"So it would seem," she croaked, cringing at the scratchiness of her own voice. She pushed herself to rest on her elbows, finding the task of simply holding herself up damn near impossible.

"Here, welcome back, sleeping beauty!" the man stepped forward, the smile having disappeared from his face. He pulled a small, homemade canteen from behind him. It wasn't much, but the water in the leaf-bound pouch was better than nothing. She took it from his hands as he crouched next to her, mouthing a _'thank you,'_ before taking a tentative sip. The ladylike behavior was soon out the window; she tilted her head back, chugging the liquid as if her life depended on it. She heard the man chuckle beside her. "There's some fresh water nearby, but I figured rain water would be quicker."

Claire coughed, clearing her throat. "Thank you," she said once her tone regained some of its strength.

"You're welcome," He replied, taking the canteen from her. He extended his other hand out. "Name's Owen Grady. Pleasure to meet you."

She eyed him carefully. Claire was never one for talking to strange men, especially when alone with one that was so friendly. Yes, this man had saved her, at least she assumed so, but that in no way meant that she was ready to place all of her trust in him. He looked nice enough, but she had met many men just like him, and she wasn't entirely convinced that this handsome stranger had the best intentions.

Regardless, out of her own desire to be polite, she shook his hand. "Claire Dearing." Internally, she marveled at how his calloused, warm hand enveloped her small one, the touch sending a spark through her. An annoying, and uncalled for, heat rose to her cheeks for some unknown reason as he smiled at her again, a flutter in her stomach numbing the pain of hunger for a brief moment. She mentally shook the feeling. Now was not the time to behave like a girl with a crush.

After some questioning, Claire learned that Owen had been on the same ship, that he was a member of the crew. She vaguely recalled seeing him aboard, though their only interaction had been some lingering glances and occasional brush-bys. On the ship however, she hadn't found his confident, borderline cocky, nature as endearing or comforting as she did now, but she would much rather been stuck with someone who knew what they were doing than someone who was too afraid to so much as look at her. This was a far better situation than being alone, too. At least she had company.

Owen had found her unconscious on the beach not long after she'd fallen. He had carried her all the way to this shack, and tended to her when he was needed. For this, she was grateful, though she was once again filled with the sense of self-consciousness with the idea that this man had seen her, and was currently seeing her, in such a vulnerable state.

He noticed the way she had been warily eyeing the room, almost as if she were afraid the damn thing would come crashing down in a matter of seconds. "It's not much, you know, for a bungalow," he said, scratching the back of his head. He rose to his feet. "But it's something. It'll last us a while."

Claire immediately sat up, ignoring the throbbing pain in her body. _"A while?_ How long do you think we'll be stuck here?" The idea that they would be trapped on this God-forsaken island for more than a few days was sickening. "Surely someone will find us?"

Owen huffed, his reaction causing a pang of irritation to shoot through Claire. "Well, no. Yeah, they'll be looking, by now they've probably heard of the shipwreck. But we gotta be realistic here. It'll be _more_ than a couple a' days."

The man had a point; a point Claire didn't really want to accept at the moment, however. Fear gripped at her, tightening its hold as the possibility seemed even more real. They really could be here for days, _months_ even. There was no telling how long it would take them to be rescued, and the thought terrified her. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her sister. She wanted to see her nephews. None of this was supposed to happen. Claire was supposed to be enjoying the Costa Rican waters with her sister, not stranded on a beach with some strange man.

Owen seemed to notice her panicked state. He placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back to reality. "Hey," he said in a firm, yet gentle tone. "Eyes on me."

She reluctantly met his eyes, not entirely pleased with his dominant tone, finding herself surprised at the determined and intent stare.

"You can't be worrying about how long it'll take to be rescued. Stop thinking about what's _going_ to happen and think about what's happening _now."_ He gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. "And right now, we need food, water, and shelter. We've got all three. As long as we can maintain this," He gestured all around them. "Then we'll be fine."

"Then what do we do _now?"_ She found herself asking, her voice weak.

He pulled his hand from her shoulder, placing it at his side. "Well, probably stick together. For survival."

* * *

That had been only the first day. The next morning, Claire had found more drinking water at her side, the rest of the shack empty, no sign of Owen apart from the canteen. She eagerly drank the water, frowning in dissatisfaction as she finished the liquid in a matter of seconds. With a shaky hand, she pushed her hair back, groaning in frustration as she felt the scratching of sand against her scalp. Why anyone ever said they loved the feeling of sand on their skin, she'd never know. Those people had obviously never even come into contact with the damn substance. It stuck to your skin no matter if it was wet or dry, clinging to every inch as it scratched mercilessly. It would get in your hair, your clothing, your _mouth,_ crunching in your ears as your teeth grit together. It was awful.

She rose, outstretching her hands in front of her to gain a better sense of balance. She wobbled, standing still until she could get her footing.

The smell of smoke filled her senses as she moved to the door. Sunlight flooded the room as she opened the door, the harsh rays causing Claire to stumble backward. She was getting pretty damn tired of this whole disorientation thing. After her eyes had adjusted to the brightness, she scanned the surrounding area, thankful that there wasn't an ounce of the accursed sand nearby. To her left, there was a pile of branches, the ends carved into fine, sharp points. Just ahead of her, the fire crackled. It looked to only have just started; so, Owen hadn't been gone long.

Claire sighed, placing her hands at her hips. She was starving, and Owen was nowhere in sight. She _could_ wait. Perhaps he was out finding food, but she had no idea how long he'd be.

No. Claire Dearing was not one to wait for anything. Especially if it meant her survival.

She gave a determined nod, she began exploring the surrounding trees.

It wasn't long before she had found a true godsend. Not far at all from the bungalow, was a grouping of trees, each bearing pale green-yellow fruit. _Plantains._ She internally rejoiced, gently plucking the low-hanging fruit. They had really been absurdly lucky in this entire ordeal. Things could have certainly been going a lot worse for them.

Returning to the camp, she found Owen, a makeshift skewer in hand, a freshly caught and cleaned fish roasting at the end.

 _Lucky, indeed._

He passed a quick glance in her direction. "I hope you like fish."

If she were going to be completely honest, she didn't like fish. At all. Especially with the scales still on it. She wasn't about to say that though. Food was food, and she wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to eat. "I do," she lied. She held up the plantain bunch as she moved toward him. "I found these."

His eyes widened as she placed the fruit next to him, clearly impressed. "I'm guessing you feel better?"

She gave a strained smile. "If I'm going to be honest, no," she responded, carefully lowering herself to the ground, sitting across from him.

He only nodded, his eyes flashing up to her from the fire. "You shouldn't go out there alone though."

"I'm sorry?" She wasn't quite sure she'd understood him correctly, being both slightly offended and irritated at his controlling tone.

"Well, I mean," He said, scratching his neck. "You're not really in any condition to be goin' off explorin' in the jungle."

The nerve! She wanted to throw the plantains at him. No, something harder. A rock maybe. She could do it. She could! No one would know! "Do we really need to discuss sexism in survival situations right now?" She asked, her voice laced with incredulity and exasperation. "For your information, I am _perfectly_ capable of handling myself—"

He held his hand up. "No, it's not that you're a woman, Claire. Personally, you're a lot better off than a lot men have. You've just been through a lot, alright?" His voice softened slightly, though Claire still found herself appalled by the implication that she was weak, even if it was right."You need to recover your strength before you can just go out there."

"Recover my—?!" She scowled as he tossed her a piece of the cooked fish. It burned her hand as she held onto it, but she didn't care. She ate in silence, passing cold glares his way.

They both finished, both taking time to savor the food. Claire grabbed a plantain, nibbling slowly at the sweet fruit in an effort to make it last. Owen gestured for her to pass him one.

She threw it.

He ate his fairly quickly, tossing the peel into the fire. He rose to his feet, not bothering to brush the dirt from his clothing. "I'm going to get some more supplies, then I'll go back to the beach and make a signal."

Claire immediately rose to her feet, finding herself not as weak now that she had a semi-full stomach. _"We'll_ go. I'm coming with you."

Owen held a hand out in front of him, as if that would be able to hold her in place. "No. You stay here. You need to rest."

She pressed her lips together in a tight line, becoming increasingly aggravated at how unreasonable he was being. She wasn't about to stay here and be useless when she could go with him and actually contribute. What did he think she's been doing for the past two days? "No, I'm coming with you. You said we needed to stick together, right?"

He clenched his jaw in agitation, his eyes burning into hers. She tilted her chin upward in defiance, placing her hands on her hips to gain a more formidable stance. He audibly sighed, irritation evident in his disposition. "Fine."

* * *

It had been less difficult to gather the needed supplies than Claire had anticipated. Granted, it still was not easy by any means, and by the end of the first few hours, she found herself about ready to fall over from the strain of physical exertion. She wasn't about to tell Owen that though. She would not give him that satisfaction. Besides, he looked about as worn out as she was when they returned to the shack.

Days went by, and no sign of any rescue. Every morning, they would go out and rebuild the signal, a fire and a large SOS drawn into the sand. After only a week on the island, Claire had begun to lose hope. Among that, she was starting to lose her patience for Owen. While he had eventually been worn down to the idea that Claire was perfectly capable of helping in the situation, he had stopped treating her as some fragile being. Their initial tension had changed to something else; something that Claire was not ready to deal with.

After another week, she noticed that he had taken a particular liking to pushing her buttons, seeing how far he could get before she would snap at him. Their comfort levels with each other had grown exponentially. Along with the teasing came flirting, something which caused a confusing, and extremely irritating, feeling to well within Claire. He had relaxed so much through all of this, his calm, cool exterior showing through. It was clear that he wasn't worried at all, that everything was under control.

Claire on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Even though Owen had told her not to dwell on the future and to just think about the present, she couldn't help it. That was why his impish teasing was less than tolerable.

Though, along with his immaturity, there were times where she would get to see his softer, more sensitive side. He was by far the more talkative of the two of them; he never seemed to run out of stories. He told her of how he had been in the Navy for a time, his eyes shining brightly as he talked of the marine mammals he got to work with. He hadn't explained why exactly he left, only saying that it was "too messy and complicated" to explain.

There were also times where his advances weren't exactly horrible. She had grown to find a comfort in his touch, his company being a way to keep her grounded. His hand would sneak its way to her arm, her waist, or even the small of her back as they walked through the jungle. Honestly, the way he looked at her sometimes was enough to make her melt. Claire had never been a woman to depend on another person, much less a man she'd only known for two weeks, but here, she found herself wanting to be near him constantly, even at the times where his immaturity was at its high point.

A thought hatched in her mind one day. What if they were never found? Would she be able—mentally, physically and emotionally—to stay on this island with him? Honestly, at some points she felt that if she had to stay another minute with him, she'd kill him. And what if they _were_ found? The idea of separating from him at this point caused a sinking feeling in her stomach. In only two weeks, she had grown somewhat attached to him. She knew that they both would have lives they had to return to.

In two different ways, Owen Grady had managed to get under her skin, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

One night, they had been sitting beside their small fire outside the bungalow. Neither of them had spoken a word, both finding themselves unable to find words. They were nearing the end of their third week on the island, and while that didn't seem like a terribly long time in the normal world, here it felt like an eternity.

They had spent most of the afternoon by the lake, their goal to collect more fresh drinking water having been set back by a playful splash fight that had ended in Owen pushing Claire into the water. The light hearted tone had quickly disappeared upon returning to the shack. They weren't even sure at this point if anyone would come for them. It wasn't a very long time, but it was long enough.

She didn't know how long she had been staring into the golden light of the fire. Owen had noticed. He had seen her pained and far away expression. She was thinking, and he felt he knew what was on her mind. The same was on is.

There was this gut feeling though, that had been twisting in Claire's stomach that evening, that the end was close. Whatever that meant, she wasn't entirely sure.

She felt his hand cover hers. She jumped slightly at the contact, but relaxed when she realized that it was him. A warm feeling pooled in her stomach as she took note of their close proximity. They had slowly migrated towards each other in their time by the fire, now close enough to see even the smallest features. Her eyes flicked briefly to his lips, an almost unconscious action on her behalf. It was then that she did the only thing she felt was right.

She kissed him.

And he kissed back.

* * *

The next morning, as they were building a large fire on the beach, Claire saw a speck on the horizon. She stopped, dropping the branches she held in her hand, stumbling as she walked toward the wading water.

It was a ship.

The speck was a ship.

And from what she could tell, it was coming their way.

An overwhelming feeling of joy filled her as she came to the revelation. They were going to be saved. Yet, with that feeling of peace and happiness, there was dread. She was scared… Scared that getting her life back wouldn't be easy. She had spent nearly a month on this island, she had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle… with a certain ex-navy man. She looked back to him, her eyes asking the silent question of what they were going to do.

His own surprised expression had faded as he stepped forward to meet her in the water, stopping as the waves brushed against his calves. Once again, she felt his hand take hers, giving a gentle squeeze.

That gesture seemed to quell her fears. He didn't need to say anything; she knew there was nothing to worry about.

After all, they were going to stick together. For survival.


End file.
